Living in Hell
by Winchester Mythology
Summary: It was supposed to be their victory. Now it's all Sam can do to not fall apart. One shot tag to 13x23 Let the Good Times Roll. Major spoilers!


**How tough was that finale?! I wanted that moment when You-Know-Who died to be that epitome of relief, but I knew that something bad was coming (didn't we all?).**

 **Obviously, this isn't going to be too happy, but, still, enjoy!**

oOo

 _"I'm not quite sure how to breathe without you here."_

 _\- Need, Hana Pestle_

oOo

 **Ilchester, Maryland**

 _"Thanks for the suit."_

Wings fluttered, the air evaporating from Sam's lungs. The chapel darkened and he bowed forwards, head dropping, hands on his knees. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

It had been Dean!

 _"Hiya, Sammy."_ He played it over in his head again, clear as a bell. That had been Dean – not Michael. There was warmth and strength in those two words. It wasn't the chilling, smooth tone that had just uttered Michael's thanks.

White noise consumed his hearing, ringing like an angel's true voice and almost as painful.

Sam sank to his knees, barely noticing when he slammed into the concrete floor. This wasn't supposed to happen. Lucifer was dead…this was supposed to be their moment of victory. He'd wished for this moment for years, had dreamed about it.

But never like this.

Sam's shoulders hunched forwards as he began to curl in on himself involuntarily. The weight that had been lifted moments before came crashing back, heavier than ever. It was his fault. If he hadn't let Lucifer bring him back from that tunnel, if he'd used the archangel blade on him before going through the rift…none of this would be happening. Dean would be okay. He wouldn't be stuck with Michael inside of him.

Horror filled Sam in an instant and, without warning, his stomach emptied its contents on the floor in front of him. He was vaguely aware of a hand rubbing his back but all he could picture was Dean trapped and alone. Sam knew what it felt like to have an archangel take over: the inability to move his own body, to be shoved into a corner of his mind and kept there, helpless and mute as the angel rode him.

 _"Oh, he's in here, all right. And he's gonna feel the snap of your bones! Every. Single. One."_

Lucifer hadn't been lying. Sam had felt every blow that had landed on his brother; the crack beneath his fist as it broke his nose, his cheekbones, his eye socket. Sam had never told Dean: he couldn't face it. Now Dean was going to suffer the same. Whatever Michael did, Dean would feel it. He'd be silently bound inside his own meatsuit, unable to do a thing to stop anything the archangel did.

Tears slid unbidden from the corners of his eyes.

He didn't want his brother to go through that. It would kill Dean, the same way it had him. Dean had done so much good in the world; he didn't deserve that kind of suffering. Agony fired through Sam's nerves as he curled in on himself, wishing, praying, that it wasn't true, that Dean was fine. But he wasn't and Sam knew it. He wished he could take his brother's place – he deserved to suffer, not Dean.

Never Dean.

"Sam, please." A voice, stuck on repeat, was calling to him, slowly breaking through the wall of grief that had surrounded him. He became aware of a hand gripping his arm, shaking him, trying to get through to him. "Please. You're scaring me."

 _Dean_.

Even in the middle of his downward spiral, Sam's first instinct was that it was his brother. He blinked, finally focusing back on the grimy floor in front of him. Looking up and over, he fixed his eyes on the boy next to him.

It was his brother shaking him: it just wasn't Dean.

Jack's face was bloodied and bruised, a fear unlike anything Sam had ever seen in the nephilim's eyes painting them a dark slate grey. Tears streaked through the dirt that was caked on his cheeks. He looked so…lost.

 _"I love you. I love you all."_

For the first time, Sam wasn't alone in his grief. He'd lost his brother before – so many times – and he'd had to break that news to Cas too many times, but never had he, in those moments, had someone else physically with him. He'd always fallen apart because no one was around to pick him up, to keep him whole. But now, as he stared up at Jack, Sam realised he couldn't break. The nephilim was hurt and afraid and he was looking to Sam for guidance.

 _Get it together. He's more important than you are._

"Sam, I'm so sorry. If I'd…if I'd listened to you then this wouldn't…Dean wouldn't have –"

If it wasn't so heart-breaking, Sam would've laughed. Jack truly was a Winchester. It took everything he had, but Sam pulled himself back together and hauled himself up, grabbing Jack in a fierce embrace before he could finish his sentence.

"It's not your fault, Jack. Don't ever think that," he murmured, holding the boy tightly, seeking comfort from giving it. His chin brushed the top of Jack's head, helping him centre himself and shove his grief down. His brother wasn't dead – far from it – but Sam had no plan. He didn't know what he was going to do. Changing Dean back to human after he'd become a demon was difficult but doable – he'd had a ritual to follow. But expelling an archangel? Hell, Sam was still convinced he'd only managed to do it through luck.

 _Stop thinking about it. Get out of here. Get to the bunker. Get Jack safe and then you can deal._

Sam eased his hold on Jack, moving his hands to the boy's shoulders so that he could inspect the wounds on his face and the puncture wound in his abdomen.

"Is anything broken?" he asked, relieved that most of the wounds looked superficial.

Jack shook his head. "No, but, Sam, I can't fly. I haven't got enough grace left."

"That's okay," Sam reassured him, giving a small smile. "It'll come back; it just takes a while for you to recharge. C'mon, let's get outta here. We can jack a car to get home and figure out what we're gonna do next."

"Is…is Dean going to be okay?" Jack asked hesitantly, his eyes wide and fixed on Sam's. A lie rose up in Sam's throat but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He cleared his throat and fixed Jack with a sombre look.

"Dean's a fighter. He's not gonna give in. C'mon," he instructed, limping towards the doors to the chapel with Jack beside him.

He needed Dean to hold on.

oOo

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

The drive back had been long and arduous. It had taken every ounce of strength that Sam possessed to not fall apart. The dark road ahead had haunted him with visions of Dean screaming and Michael's cold smile stretching across his face. Soon they married with every other time Dean had been taken until it became an excruciating montage of all of Sam's failures to protect his brother. And, though he tried to fight them, they pulled him back under just enough to riddle him with guilt for the whole ride home.

He'd dressed Jack's stomach wound and cleaned the blood from his face as best he could without any resources. They'd swapped cars twice along the way – with no wallet and no phone, they'd been at the mercy of whatever car he could break into and hotwire. Jack had tried to stay awake in the beginning, but the exhaustion from his wounds and the loss of his grace had been too much, forcing him to succumb to the darkness that called to him. Sam constantly looked over at him, checking he was still there, that he was okay. Occasionally, he'd reach out a hand, gently squeezing the nephilim's arm when he became restless with a dream. Jack would settled straight back into a deeper sleep and it gave Sam comfort to feel that he was still there. He needed that right now; he needed someone to need him.

Pulling into the bunker's garage, Sam's heart ached so badly that it stole his breath. The Impala sat in the middle of the cavernous space, waiting to go.

 _"It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I got him."_

Baby had saved him. All of their memories had brought him back. Sam's eyes pricked. Dean had to be behind its wheel. He had to drive it again. Their last journey in it together couldn't just be an errand run.

It just…couldn't.

He couldn't breathe. Panic was rising thick and fast within him and the control he'd kept all the way from the chapel was cracking, the wall beginning to fall.

 _Get in. Get Jack safe._

He focused on his white knuckles, forcing his breath to even out until the panic subsided once more. It wouldn't hold for long, but he didn't need it to. Reaching out, he shook Jack gently, waiting for the nephilim to wake.

"We're home, buddy," Sam called softly as Jack roused, blinking blearily at him. Disorientated, he looked around, nodding silently when he recognised the garage. Together, they climbed out of the car, the absence of the familiar squeak sending Sam's heart thudding.

 _Hold on._

They walked towards the entrance to the bunker, Jack in front with Sam's hand hovering behind him, ready to catch him if he fell. Voices resounded through the bunker when they opened the door, the sound still foreign after years of it just being the three of them in the underground fortress.

"Sam! Jack!" Castiel shouted, hurrying to them when he saw them approach. Cas looked at Sam, his blue eyes wide and imploring. Silently, Sam shook his head, unable to find the words. He clapped his hand on Jack's shoulder, clearing his throat.

"Take care of him, Cas," he instructed quietly, slipping past the angel. Mary appeared, her face soft and full of concern, her arms opening wide. How many times had he wished for this: to find his mum at home, offering comfort? And yet, he couldn't. She wasn't who he wanted, who he needed.

Dean was gone.

Mutely, he stepped back from her, shaking his head. Her brow crinkled, her arms dropping to her sides.

"I need time," he whispered, his eyes apologetic as the guilt piled on. Silently, she nodded, stepping aside as he walked past her, heading for the bedrooms, his pace quickening. He would find a way to save his brother; he didn't know how but he would.

But not today. He didn't know how.

Reaching his bedroom door, Sam slipped inside and closed it with measured quietness. He turned, facing inwards, his back to the wood as he slipped down, his knees buckling beneath him. His hands snaked into his hair as he curled up, sobs wracking his whole body as his control vanished. Agony, hot and raw, seeped into every nerve, consuming him, burning him with his own failures.

 _"We did it."_

It was supposed to be their victory. But it wasn't. It was their undoing.

And now they were both lost.

oOo

 **Please review!**


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